


like a simile, i paint suggestive pictures (of me and you)

by dangerbears



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:06:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerbears/pseuds/dangerbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis is a TA for an english 101 class and harry is stupid gorgeous which of course leads to a morality crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a simile, i paint suggestive pictures (of me and you)

It's not that Louis specifically _hates_ discussion sections, it's more that _everyone on earth_ hates discussion sections. The problem lies within the way each individual handles and projects their hatred that breaks down what could be a moment of beautiful solidarity. There's the silent majority – the ones who race for the row at the back of the classroom and huddle over their laptops, very clearly biding their time until the hour hits. There's the rare minority – the ones who hide their resentment well and do what they can to further discussion, who ask insightful questions, who pretend to care. Louis, in turn, pretends they aren't sucking up for the grade. And then there's the vocal minority – the group of students who sit very deliberately in the front row, who project their opinions and analyses and very Deep, Subversive, and Unique thoughts and then sink back into their chairs with a look of impressive self-satisfaction, as if the heavens have opened and sprayed the surrounding lesser mortals with a comeshot of Intellect. 

His section is the end of the alphabet; a sixth of the full lecture capacity. The S's to the Z's. Twenty five first year students who chose to take Introduction to Literature. Four years later and Louis pities them already. 

But whatever. He has a bagel with what could possibly considered too much cream cheese and a massive thermos of tea and no set lesson plans aside from standard name and favourite author bullshit. There's no need to fully alienate twenty five eighteen year olds before strictly necessary. Louis knows he's a dick; they don't need to know that until later. 

The classroom is empty when he arrives, ten minutes before class begins. It's one of the shitty classrooms, stuffed in the annexes of the art building, fit for neither man nor beast. There's a quaint spread of black mould surrounding the windows, which do not fully close. The facsimile of hardwood covering the floor is peeling laminate. The chalkboard has a permanent dick drawn on it, pointing towards Louis's desk. The dick is ejaculating exactly over where his head would be, should he choose to sit. So. Auspicious beginning. 

There's a scuffling by the door, and Louis snaps out of his standard _woe woe woe desolation woe woe_ brainspace, glancing over. A boy – young, nervous looking, and unfortunately _absolutely fucking gorgeous_ – is standing there. "Is this, um, are you Louis? Discussion section, um?"

And oh, well, bend Louis over and shove cucumbers up his arsehole, because this beautiful thing is British. Louis swallows and flicks his fringe off his forehead, smiling brightly at the boy after a brief pause. "Yes! Glad you found it alright. I'm pretty sure this classroom is not on any official map, actually. Maybe directly underneath the _here there be monsters_ disclaimer, but, yes! Welcome." 

The boy blinks, smiles. "Brilliant, cheers. Where are you from? Unless you're mocking me." 

Louis laughs. "I'd have become an actor if I could mock you this well, mate. I'm from Yorkshire. You?" 

"Cheshire," the boys drawls, shaking his stupid curly fringe into his eyes and then flipping it back out, giving him a ridiculous pompadour until gravity flops it right back where it was. Louis bites back a smile. 

"Excellent. Except not, because I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to have favourites. Especially before I've met anyone else. What's your name?" Louis asks, because he's fairly certain calling this boy Stupid Pretty for the rest of the semester would lead to a breakdown in the TA-student relationship. Or something. 

"Harry," he says, biting his stupid red lip and smiling with stupid white teeth and stupid green eyes. 

Stupid Pretty Harry, then. 

Or maybe just Stupid Predator Louis. 

Louis grins back, and like. Well, just, like. Shit. Shit, because Harry's clearly a huge fucking flirt with his stupid self, and Louis does not do well with being flirted with by Stupid Pretty Boys without turning into Stupid Flirty Louis and when Stupid Flirty Louis is combined with Stupid Predator Louis, there is really only one outcome and that is clearly Stupid Unemployed and Disgraced Louis. 

"I'm Louis," he says back. 

Harry smiles. 

Louis sits right under the ejaculating penis because he is teaching a literature discussion section and he is nothing if not well-versed on the art of the metaphor. 

*

Niall is sitting at the kitchen table when Louis gets home. Niall has three tacos in front of him and his guitar is propped up on the chair across the table, a separate plate of tacos in front of it. Louis pauses. 

There's a slight possibility that the guitar's tacos are meant for Louis. There is a bigger possibility Niall did actually buy his guitar tacos, solely so once he finished his own he could politely ask his guitar to share the tacos and his guitar will be more likely to say yes than Louis. 

"I am going to stress-eat those tacos, Niall, and I will not hear a word otherwise." 

Niall looks up and blinks at Louis for a moment, before smiling around a mouthful of beef. "Louis!" he yells. 

Louis stares at him. He is well-versed in Niall's distraction tactics. Distractics. "I am going to stress-eat those tacos, Niall," he says again. 

Niall looks over across the table and a look of deep conflict passes over his face, eventually clearing with a sigh. "Okay, Louis. I love you." 

Louis rolls his eyes. "I love you too, man. How was your day?" 

Niall's in his last year of a music something something degree. Engineering? Is music engineering a thing? Louis is not sure but he's pretended valiantly for three years, so he's very adept at it by now. 

"Good! Good. I decided to take a geology class. It seems cool!" Niall is still talking around tacos. Louis pulls a face and sinks into the chair next to the guitar. He looks at it, hopefully with enough of an apology in his eyes so Niall won't get offended on its behalf, and slides the plate of tacos in front of him. 

"Geology? What? Like, you decided in your last year to take, like, Geology 101?" Louis takes a huge bite of the taco and winces at the actual _three gallons_ of hot sauce the guitar apparently prefers. 

Niall nods, excited. "Yeah, like, apparently if you take more than twelve credits, it's all the same price? So I had extra room for another three credit class and, like, I dunno. I remembered that I like to drop rocks into the swimming pool because the splash was cool, so. Geology!" 

Louis tilts his head. "That is physics. The splash is physics." 

"Louis," Niall says pityingly. "Louis, Louis, Louis." 

Louis waits. 

"Louis, you can't even tell the difference between a stalactite and stalagmite. Forgive me if I do not take you seriously." 

Chewing thoughtfully, Louis regards Niall. "I think I want to fuck an eighteen year old," he says, after he swallows.

Niall nods slowly. "I hope you realise that the dean will probably take you more seriously than I do." 

Louis leans back in his chair, sighing at the ceiling. Which, inexplicably, has a picture of Zac Efron taped to it. Louis stares at that instead. Zac Efron is over eighteen and also not in his discussion section. Zac Efron is safe. 

"It's not like he's twelve," Louis tries. 

Niall gags. "Don't," he says, pointing a finger at Louis. The finger has a string of carne asada hanging off it. Louis pulls a face. 

"I'm just saying. I could be worse!" 

Rolling his eyes, Niall says, "Yes, Louis, if that reassurance gets you through the night, go for it. I assume this kid is in your class?" 

"Yeah," Louis says, sighing. He rubs a hand over his face. "He's British and, like, unnaturally pretty. Like... He's got this hair. And these eyes. And this _mouth_ , christ." Louis turns pleading eyes across the table. "Niall." 

Niall shrugs. "Good thing you're so well-versed at pining, mate." 

Louis flinches. "Wow." 

"I mean, living with me must leave you with perpetual blue-balls. I'm not jealous. My manly essence exudes in waves. I am so impressed you haven't cracked by now, I mean, like. I walk around in me pants, don't I? Most of the time I can't keep my own hands off myself." Punctuating this with a loud burp, Niall gets up and pulls out two beers from the fridge. He places the extra one in front of the guitar. 

Louis says, "Bend me over this table right now, you stallion, my will has crumbled." 

Niall nods. "I saw this day coming years ago." 

*

There's this coffee shop in the center of this college town that serves relatively cheap specialty coffees and their espresso machine only pulls double-shots and the interior decor reminds Louis of when his twin baby sisters took every puzzle in the house and dumped them into one box. And then tried to solve it. 

Garage-sale chic is possibly the term, but Louis thinks that tacking _chic_ on the end of anything creates a romanticised image of garbage that is rather unnecessary. Niall could order a pizza, unsupervised, and defend it as _anchovy-chic_. That's not a thing. That will never be a thing. 

Louis's favourite drink involves about sixteen squirts of chocolate sauce, four shots of espresso, some marshmallow flavouring, and possibly the tears of kittens. He'x compare it to an orgasm in his mouth, but that usually collapses around the reality that orgasms in his mouth tend to not involve chocolate, marshmallow, or espresso. 

He has maybe had too much caffeine. He has some pseudo-grading to do – really just writing a little welcome message on the bottom of the _what is your literature experience thus far_ cop-out paper he'd assigned – and he has a growing stack of novels to read and he wants to write something. 

He has very grand aspirations for this coffee shop, but it's rarely failed him before. 

Curling up in his usual chair by the window, he balances his mug on the arm and pulls out the stack of papers. He very deliberately does not flip through them to find Harry Styles'. Except that he totally does and he totally hates himself. 

It takes him an hour to get through the essays, and after the sixth variation on his _This is great to hear, [insert name]! I'm excited to work with you this semester! Please let me know if you ever need any help with [insert listed weakness]! - Louis_ theme, he starts recycling them. Stock phrases are great. Louis just hopes no one knows each other well enough to compare. Except, of course, Harry's essay was witty and self-deprecating and eloquent and Louis had to actively resist adding his fucking phone number to the bottom of the page, underneath a series of hearts and xoxo's. 

"Louis?" comes a stupid, slow drawl from somewhere above his head. Louis looks up and oh. Yep. Yep, Louis actually must have been Jack the Ripper in his last life because Harry Styles is smiling down at him, all windblown hair and reddened cheeks and... well. 

Louis smiles, because he can't _not_ smile at this boy in front of him. "Harry! I just read your paper. You're a good writer!" Inane, inane, inane, death, death, woe, woe. 

Harry laughs a little. "Thanks! Are you waiting for someone?" he asks, eyes straying to the chair next to Louis. 

Death, death, woe, woe, here be monsters, woe, death, shut it down. 

"No," Louis says back, gesturing at the empty chair. "Help yourself. I recommend ordering something very caffeinated and very sugary, though. It's really the specialty here." 

Harry winks – he actually fucking _winks_ and goodbye, world, Louis is Sylvia Plath-ing himself as soon as he gets home – and drops his bag on the chair before going up to the counter. 

Louis pulls out his phone, sending a text to Niall. _red alert red alert SOS SOS SOS jailbait jailbait woe woe do you even realise what would happen to me in jail NIALL!!!!!_

Harry comes back with a steaming mug of Louis's dignity and settles himself in. "So, Louis," he starts, and Louis's phone goes _IT'S LIKE 151 RUM PINEAPPLE JUICE AND MALIBU CARIBOU GET THEM ALL NUMB MAKE BABYGIRL COME_. 

Harry jumps and looks entirely too much like a startled baby deer for Louis to handle. "Sorry," Louis says. "I like to express myself." 

Harry chokes on a mouthful of whatever he's drinking, coughing and laughing in equal amounts and it's cute and endearing and Louis just smiles at him for a moment before checking his texts. 

_lou i learnt some valuble advice in geogley today....... uve got a gr8 booty_

Louis makes a low noise in his throat and drops his phone on the floor, glaring at it. Everyone betrays him. 

"Everything alright?" Harry asks, eyebrows coming together, concerned. 

"Harry," Louis says, "listen to grandad's advice, okay?" 

Harry nods, rolling his lips into his mouth to hide the smile Louis can clearly see in his eyes. 

"Do not trust anyone. Never confide in anyone. Everyone will always like their guitars more than they like you. They will buy their guitars tacos and beer and you will be left, naked and alone, shivering in a gutter like you are caught in the middle of revolutionary France." Louis stares at Harry intently, seriously, and taps the side of his nose. 

"Ah," Harry intones, nodding again. "Wisdom does come with age."

"Yes. When you are as old and decrepit as I am, young Harold, you will understand. The world does not love you and we are all going to die anyway." 

Harry glances around the coffeeshop, taking in the myriad array of empty seats. "I am overwhelmingly glad I chose to sit with Doctor Death, Louis, thank you." 

Scoffing, Louis fixes his fringe and levels Harry with a look. "I'm just trying to protect you."

Harry smiles at him, a small, secret, closed-mouth smile, and his eyes are shining. "Of course you are." 

It's all a bit too knowing. Louis is in Trouble. 

*

 

Louis ends up spending two hours in the coffeeshop. He decided about an hour in that he is a vigourous and enthusiastic fan of revisionist history. 

He spent two hours in the coffeeshop grading papers, reading very intellectual literature, and writing prose gorgeous enough to bring the country to its knees. 

He decidedly Did Not spend two hours in the coffeeshop trying – succeeding – to make Harry laugh, just to see the way he ducks under his fringe. The way he laughs so openly. The way he looks at Louis. 

It's all very problematic, revisionist history, but, Louis thinks, it has its time and place. 

He's meeting Zayn for dinner now and he's trying to control his face, really, because it's absolutely disgusting that he cannot stop smiling. Disgusting and inappropriate and unprofessional and Louis is none of those things. 

He's not. 

Zayn's already slumped over a notebook in their usual booth. His hair is flattened in the back and sticking up in the front. It's either sex-hair or thesis-hair, Louis isn't sure. 

"Hey," he says, sliding in across from him. 

Zayn looks up blearily. There's a lovebite on his neck, but his fingernails are also bitten down to the quick and his face is pale. "Lou," Zayn says. "Hey. How are you? Do you know anything about the European Union?" 

"Um," Louis says, reaching for a menu. They're at their regular diner, but the menu is vast and delicious and Louis has a strict rule that he's not allowed to order anything twice until he's tried everything first. Except for the chicken-fried steak. He maybe cannot think of anything that sounds grosser than chicken-fried steak. Chicken should never be used as an adjective. "No, mate, sorry. Why? What are you doing?" 

Zayn mumbles something about diplomatic policies and Louis zones out. He was an English major with a writing minor for a reason. And that reason was avoiding the world and higher thought and generally, like, everything. He'll get the Denver omelet.

"I'll get the Denver omelet," he tells Zayn as Zayn pauses to inhale. 

"I'm getting the chicken-fried steak," Zayn says. "And I don't want to hear a single word out of you."

Louis is pretty sure his facial expression counts as a response. "Zayn, I need to unload my troubles." 

The change is immediate. Zayn sits up and his face immediately clears from any poli-sci worries. His gaze softens and his fingers twitch toward Louis's hand. Louis really does not deserve someone like Zayn in his life. "Of course, Lou. Anything. What's up?" 

Louis heaves a sigh and tangles his fingers with Zayn's. "I think I may be, like, scum of the earth. Maybe." 

Zayn's brow furrows. "Louis, no. Louis. You're amazing and hilarious and so, so caring. You never let anyone you love think they're less than they are. You–"

Okay, so, like, the problem with having someone as absolutely, purely wonderful as Zayn in his life is that Zayn knows too much. Zayn completely cares about Louis more than anyone in Louis's immediate life, and running parallel to that, Zayn knows all of the little bits of Louis that Louis tries as hard as he can to hide. 

It's all very confusing when Louis exaggerates for dramatic and comedic effect, because Zayn has been there when Louis was not exaggerating. 

"Zayn," Louis interrupts. "Zayner." 

Zayn stops, but the concern in his wide, earnest eyes stays. God. 

"Zayn, I have a crush on a boy in my discussion section." 

Immediately slumping back into the booth, Zayn closes his eyes and sighs. "Louis." 

"Sorry," Louis says, sheepish. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

"Fuck," Zayn says. He sighs again and rubs his hand over his face. "Okay. Walk me through it." 

Louis bites his lip. "Promise not to judge me?" 

"Louis," Zayn says. "Considering the possibilities that were just running through my head, I think you're safe." 

"Cheers." Louis rolls his eyes. "Okay, so like. There's this boy. His name is Harry Styles, which, I know, right? What kind of stage name is that? But really. And he's like. He's so tall and lanky and built and just. He's got this mess of curly hair and these big eyes and. Okay, like. No. Zayn. You have to see his mouth. It's like... words won't do it justice. It's pornographic, frankly, and then when he _smiles_ with it, like. I don't know what to do. Oh, also he's from the north, right? So like. Zayn." 

Zayn's trying and failing to hide a smile. "The north as in, like, Massachusetts or Newcastle?" 

"Like, outside of Manchester. Ew, Newcastle, who _are_ you?" Louis wraps his hands around his glass of water, hoping the coolness on his palms will travel up to his cheeks. Fuck. 

Zayn laughs. "So you have a crush. I'm failing to see the problem." 

"He's eighteen! I'm a step away from being his _professor_!" 

"Louis," Zayn says dryly. "You are many, many, many steps from being a professor. Miles, I'd say. Lightyears. Galaxies." 

Louis's mouth drops open. "Ex _cuse_ me? I would be a fantastic professor. I'm like. Smart. And eloquent. And shit."

Rolling his eyes, Zayn takes a sip of his coffee. "Okay, so let me recap. Correct me if I've missed anything. You have a crush on a boy who is four years younger than you, yes? And he's in your discussion section. Which is a semester long. And once he is no longer in your discussion section, he is fair game, yes?"

"Yes," Louis says miserably. "But he'll probably think I'm old and creepy and boring. He probably thinks I have erectile dysfunction." 

"I..." Zayn blinks. "Um. Why would he think that, Louis?" 

"I don't know, Zayn! Why does anyone think anything!" 

"Okay," Zayn says, drawing the word out. "Let me paint you a little picture. Eighteen year old Louis Tomlinson. Twinky as fuck. Just got to the big, bad colonies for his university education. Let's say little Louis has a discussion section with a sexy TA who happens to have an excellent bum. Let's say said TA is twenty-two. Is Louis's first thought, hey, I bet he has erectile dysfunction?" 

Louis chews on his bottom lip, thinking it over. "Okay," he allows. "Probably not. But eighteen year old Louis Tomlinson was gagging for it. Twenty-two year old Louis Tomlinson is gagging for it. If you saw eighteen year old Harry Styles, you would definitely agree with me that eighteen year old Harry Styles is decidedly not gagging for it." 

"Whatever," Zayn says. "You're going to say whatever you can to talk yourself out of this, and I can't stop you, but just know that if I was in your class, Lou, I'd be rubbing one out under the desk." 

Louis smiles over at him. "You're wonderful. I'm swooning." 

Zayn just shakes his head. "And, Lou? Even if it doesn't work out, you're not creepy. There's nothing wrong with you. You know?"

The waitress comes up to them, then, and Louis gives her a rather manic grin. "Hello, love," he drawls. "I'll take the Denver omelet, and this fine piece of meat over here will have the waffles." He shoves the menus at her, giving her one more winning smile as she walks away. He looks triumphantly back at Zayn. Niall's not the only one with distractics. 

Zayn flips him off lazily. "I'm going to get the chicken-fried steak someday and when I do, I am going to tie you down and sit on your stomach, eating it right in front of your face." 

"Please," Louis says. "No dirty talk at the dinner table. Have you no manners?" 

*

For the next month, Louis dreads Tuesdays. Tuesdays, ten o'clock, in the art annex. He dreads them because he looks forward to them so much. Harry is always there to catch his eye, wink at him. He'll mime gagging whenever someone is particularly obnoxious. He'll mime sleeping when Louis is being particularly boring. It's actually excruciatingly adorable and Louis is Struggling. 

One Tuesday, Louis comes home to Niall and a shockingly ginger boy sitting at his kitchen table. They both have a plate of tacos in front of them, and the table is covered in empty bottles of Guinness. 

"Guinness from a bottle actually tastes like rank ejaculate," Louis says, setting his bag down on the floor and collapsing into a chair. Niall nods and slides a bottle toward him. Louis takes it and pops the cap, lifting it in a mock salute. 

"Ed," Niall says, "this is my roommate, Louis. Louis is in a state of perpetual bitch-mode because he is in love with a child in his class." 

Ginger boy – Ed – laughs. "A child? Please tell me you don't teach elementary school." 

Louis glares at Niall. "Thank you, _Niall_. And no, Ginger, I do not teach elementary school. Who are you?" 

Niall very clearly mouths _bitch-mode_ to Ed, who smirks. "Ed is a musician, Lou. Pretty good, too. I'm producing his EP. It's really good."

"You _produce_?" Louis asks. "How did I not know this?" 

"Because, Louis," Niall says patiently, "you have never once feigned interest in what I do."

Louis considers this, and then shrugs. He takes a long pull of his beer. "Anyway, I just want to disclaim to you, musician Ed subtitled stranger, that I have a crush on an eighteen year old – completely overage and legal – student. I just happen to be his TA and discussion section leader. It's all very horrifying in the face of my professionalism." 

"Interesting," Ed says, drawing the word out.

Louis rolls his eyes. "I'm glad my internal morality crisis and emotional distress is interesting to you. Niall, do you just invite any breed of sociopath into this apartment? Because I need to have some veto power." 

"Nah," Ed says. "It's interesting because I live with a kid who has a massive crush on his discussion section leader. And he's eighteen. And I've heard a bit too much about butts than I really ever need to." 

Niall chokes on his beer. Louis sits up straight, eyes sharpened on Ed. "What's his name?" 

Lunging across the table, Niall shoves his hand over Ed's mouth. "I can't let this happen," he screeches. "Louis is _already_ unbearable. This _will not help_. Don't say anything, Ed, I am begging you. I will speed your vocals up so much you sound like fuckin' Alvin and the Chipmunks." 

Ed's shoulders are shaking with laughter and he nods. Niall removes his hand. "Sorry, man," he says to Louis. 

Louis's hands are clenched around his beer, and he stares intently at Ed. "Ed," he says slowly, "if that is your _real name_ , I shan't forget the day you chose Niall over me." 

Ed smiles back. "You just let me know when you get your boy, yeah? I've got a song for you, I think." 

Louis pulls a face. "Sappy." 

Niall laughs into his beer. "Ed's got a show at the end of the semester, Lou. Maybe your boy will be there."

"Maybe he will," Ed says. He waggles his eyebrows mysteriously. 

"You both think you are helping me," Louis grumbles, "but when I have a heart attack at age twenty five, my death letter will be addressed to you." 

"That's suicide, Lou. You don't have a letter for a heart attack." Niall thinks he's the fucking voice of reason here, apparently. Louis scowls. 

"I'll write it right now and secret it about me person, just in case. Twat." Louis downs the rest of his beer and gets up. "If you lads will excuse me, I have papers to grade. Like a proper adult who only has proper relationships."

He walks down the hallway to his room amidst hoots of laughter. 

*

Fridays have always been Louis and Zayn nights. Ever since they first became friends, they found themselves going out together Friday nights, or at least finding each other before the night ended. And then they were Friends But Also More, and Fridays were their night to go out and drink and come back to the apartments and fuck. And then they circled back to Friends with the added bonus of You Know Too Much To Ever Leave, and they spend their Friday nights drinking and lamenting their disinterest in life, love, and general happiness. 

This Friday is no different. 

"Zayn," Louis says. "Zayner, Zayn, Zayn." He's only three beers in and he foresees a long night of hard drinking. It's cool; he had pasta for dinner. "Zayn." 

"What," Zayn says back. He's perched on the window seat, and the window is pushed wide open, because Zayn generally decides about two days after signing a lease that outside is too far to go for a smoke. 

"Zayn, here's the thing. It has been a month and two weeks since I fell in love and it's not getting better. It always gets better by now. Why isn't it getting better? He's not even that special! He's just, like, pretty. And stuff." Louis stretches out on the couch and props his head up on his fists, gazing at Zayn with big, sad eyes. He assumes. He feels sad and he widens his eyes, so he hopes the sadness is conveyed. 

Zayn takes a slow drag of his cigarette. Louis watches him with interest. Smoking is very poetic in a dirty, death-causing, smelly, gross kind of way. If smoking could just only be poetic without the other symptoms, Louis would be an avid smoker. He thinks he would look very Deep and Introspective with a cigarette. Zayn always warns him that this is a dangerous train of thought, because that is how Zayn started smoking. But Zayn has always had more literal delusions of grandeur than Louis. Louis just likes to hypothesis and complain. Zayn likes to smoke and internalise. 

"Lou, have you considered that you maybe genuinely like him as a person?" Zayn looks over with an arched eyebrow. 

Louis immediately shakes his head. "Impossible. I like very few things genuinely as people. He's pretty and charming and I have fallen under the spell and someone must break it! Come over here and break me of it, big boy." 

Zayn rolls his eyes. "You like me genuinely as a person." 

"Well, yes," Louis allows. "And I panicked about it for three weeks, so thanks for that, arsehole." 

Smirking, Zayn says, "Flattered, thank you. I'm just saying, maybe he's one more name you can add to the list. It's very unhealthy to only like me and Niall. You need some, like, variety or something."

Louis hums. "That sounds unappealing. Another beer sounds more appealing." 

"You didn't used to be so fucking misanthropic," Zayn yells after him as Louis goes into the kitchen. 

Louis rolls his eyes. It's true, though, he didn't. There wasn't really a specific moment where he gave up on humanity as a general species, it was more the steady progression of time and the unfortunate curse of being alive. 

There is also the cliche that he prefers not to dwell on – the steady stream of shithead boyfriends and shittier flings and general disillusionment with love. It's not that he doesn't believe love exists, he just thinks maybe it's not for him. 

And, predictably: "Is this about Theo?" Zayn asks him as he walks back into the TV room with two more beers. 

"Is what about Theo?" Louis asks, innocent. That's the key with Zayn – feign ignorance until Zayn gets to that perfect mixture of annoyed and bored with the conversation to drop it. 

Zayn shrugs. "You've not properly been with anyone since him." 

"Excuse you, I was with you for like. A lot of months. Six? Seven? Don't sell yourself short, love." Louis will have to ride this one out. Zayn gets into these moods sometimes where he decides he's a fucking psychoanalyst and tries his techniques on Louis. Louis is very against being psychoanalysed because he can't even get any drugs out of it. He just has to sit and listen to Zayn telling him how he feels. 

Louis is not a fan of being told how he feels. 

"Yeah, but we weren't properly together. We were friends who fucked and stuff." Zayn taps his cigarettes against the heel of his hand. The sun is setting outside and the orange glow lights up his profile. It's pretty gorgeous. Zayn's pretty gorgeous. It's rather unfair. 

"You loved me," Louis says dismissively. "It counts." 

"I still love you, Lou, but that's like. We weren't in love and we're never going to be in love. Stop deflecting." 

Louis sighs sharply. "I'm not fucking deflecting because there's nothing to deflect. What, exactly, do you want to talk about here? Theo? That was three years ago and I genuinely do not care about what happened anymore. He didn't give me any diseases and that's the only thing worth remembering there. Can we fucking move on?" He sounds angrier than he actually is. He is not drunk enough for this. 

"No, Louis," Zayn says back, just as sharp. "I wanna talk about this." 

"About _what_ , Zayn? Like, no, honestly, I'm so confused here. I have a stupid crush on someone. Nothing is going to come of it and I will move on. This is not the first time this has happened and it will not be the last time. I don't know why you need to label me as fucking emotionally disturbed. There's nothing to discuss." Louis finishes his beer. He stares down at it with surprise. He's pretty sure he just opened it. 

"I wanna talk about why you act as if it's the end of the fucking world that you have a crush on some boy. Crushes are _fun_ , Louis, and every fucking time you're attracted to anyone you freak the fuck out and hide in your fucking room and emerge months later with hundreds of pages of emotionally traumatising prose. That's not what is generally known as _healthy_."

Louis rolls his eyes. "So fucking what, Zayn? It's better than getting coked up and fucking anyone who touches my arse at a party, and you and I both know I already tried that one." 

Zayn flicks his ash out the window. He's stayed remarkably calm through this conversation. Louis is agitated. He'd prefer it if Zayn was just as agitated. When Zayn gets agitated, the chances of him letting Louis give him a blowjob go up. Louis could be agreeable to giving a blowjob tonight. It's been awhile. 

"Lou," Zayn says, more gentle this time. "I just want you to be happy. You talk a good game, but come on."

Louis scoffs. "I'm fine, and I swear to god, Zayn, if you try to bring this back to my fucking parents or something, I am leaving." 

Zayn laughs around a mouthful of smoke. "Yeah, okay. I do have theories there, too, you know." 

"I fucking know, you sad excuse for a person. Seriously, get a hobby or a boyfriend or something and leave me alone." Louis pulls his legs under him and leans back into the couch. "And will you get over here? What's the fucking point of making me feel like shit if you're not even going to cuddle me?" 

Zayn smiles and stubs out his cigarette, sliding off the window seat. "Yeah," he says, plopping down onto the couch. Louis throws his legs over Zayn's lap and Zayn strokes at his ankle. "Can you tell me what you're worried about, though?" 

Louis closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "Zayn." 

"Lou." Zayn's voice is soft. "Is it his age?" 

Louis shrugs. "He's very charming. Very... he's not cocky, really, just. Assured. He knows the effect he has on people. And that's scary, I guess. To feel manipulated that way, even if he doesn't mean it. He's not, like, forcing me to fall in love with him or whatever, it's just. The way he is. And I don't like falling into that trap."

Zayn nods and his hand comes to circle Louis's ankle, comforting. "You're not exactly the most resistible person on the planet either, though, Lou. You know that, right? You're gorgeous and hilarious and you've definitely got your own brand of charm." 

Louis smiles faintly. "I just can't afford to be in love with, or pine after, or whatever the fuck, another boy like Theo." 

Zayn's grip tightens. "Theo was just a dick, Louis. Theo wasn't charming because he was a good person; Theo was charming so he could fuck people. And I think you could tell that, and I think you would be able to tell if your boy was doing that." 

"Oh well," Louis says, wrinkling his nose. "It doesn't matter anyway. Let's not forget that Harry is untouchable for another two months. And maybe straight. Or taken. Or any number of possibilities that do not involve being interested in me." 

"Whatever," Zayn says, rolling his eyes. "He's probably whining to his best friend right now about the hot TA who pretends not to like him." 

"It's Friday night, Zayner. He's a freshman in college. I sincerely doubt he's as boring as we are," Louis says back. "I need another fucking beer. Or shots. We should definitely be doing shots." 

Zayn laughs. "You just want to get me drunk." 

Louis only smirks. 

*

Office hours are probably the three most tedious hours of Louis's life. Over the course of the semester, he's probably had three students enter the office. Two of them were looking for the bathroom and the other one was a girl who clearly was more interested in sleeping with Louis for the grade then actually working on her paper. 

And it's another Monday afternoon wasted on three hours of nothing but brooding. It's not like Louis can't work on his own stuff, because he can, but he's much more talented at pouting. 

He sighs and picks up his pen, leaning over his notebook. He's trying to work on a short story, but it's daunting. Life is daunting. Louis needs strong coffee and possibly a vacation. 

There are footsteps outside the office and Louis perks up a little. There are three days until the midterm paper is due and Louis cannot believe he hasn't gotten more concerned students. Not that he ever took advantage of office hours when he was undergrad, but, like, he's sure other people did. The swotty-types. 

"Hey," comes a voice from the door and Louis swallows. He knows that voice. 

He looks up and, yep, Harry's smiling that stupid, devastating smile at him. "Hey, Harry," Louis says, smiling back. "Paper troubles?" 

Harry shrugs and sits down across from Louis. "What're you working on?" he asks. 

Louis glances down at his notebook, startled, as if he's never seen it before. Christ. "Oh, um. I'm working on a collection of short stories? Like, I don't know." He laughs nervously. 

When did he get to this point? When did he start _caring_ what Harry thinks of him, or his work? How did this happen and how can he reverse it? 

But Harry leans forward. "Really? Are they, like, connected? What are you writing about?" 

"Um," Louis says. No one really asks about his writing anymore, because he's trained them not to. He doesn't like to talk about it, the same way people generally don't like to talk about therapy. This is his therapy. "Oh, um. I guess, like, they're interconnected thematically? They're about divorce, I guess." 

"Oh, wow," Harry says, and fuck, but he does look actually interested. "That's... could I read some? Is that something you do? I just. You know. That's one of those topics that..." 

"Yeah," Louis says quickly, cutting him off. Oh no. Abort abort death death woe woe. Harry is _vulnerable_ and Louis. Just. Fuck. "Yeah, um. I don't usually? But, um. I mean. I guess you could? I could, like, email you one or something. I don't know. You don't have to, like, say anything back." Louis lets out another nervous laugh. "I mean, they're probably shit. I just kind of write for myself, I guess." 

Harry nods slowly. "No, Louis, I'd be really honoured. I get that it's private, so if you're at all uncomfortable, I mean. Don't worry about it at all. I don't mean to pry."

Louis gives him a wan smile. "No, really. I don't mind. You... it's. Wow." He laughs again, flustered. "Um. So did you have a question about your paper, or...?"

"Oh," Harry says, shaking his head a little. "Yeah, I mean. So I decided to analyse _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ through the lens of Roland Barthes' _Mythologies_? And I have my thesis and everything, I'm just a little stuck on one of the points, and I was wondering if maybe you could explain this idea to me in a little more depth?" Harry starts digging through his bag, pulling out the books. 

Louis blinks. "Harry, that's some pretty intense lit theory, there. You don't have to, like, overachieve. It's a 101 class." 

Harry looks at Louis a little blankly. "I... oh." 

"I mean," Louis hurries to add, "it's really, really advanced. That's not a bad thing. Just, you know, when he said to use a theoretical piece he meant more like the T.S. Eliot essay we discussed a few weeks ago. But there's nothing wrong with using Mythologies. You just surprised me. I'm impressed." 

Harry smiles, cheeks red. 

Louis is _so absolutely gone_. "Um," Louis says. "I'll just. Let me read what you have so far and I'll send you some feedback, okay? Does tonight work for you?"

"That'd be great," Harry says, looking relieved. "Thank you so much." 

Louis swallows. "Not a problem." 

"And," Harry says, standing up, "I really would love to read your writing. So. Again, only if you're comfortable with it." 

"I'll... send you some tonight," Louis says weakly. "Thank you." 

Harry gives him another devastating smile and leaves. 

Louis slumps forward onto his desk, head in his hands. 

*

Louis spends the rest of his office hours reading over Harry's essay and by the time he gets home, he is upset.

"Niall," he says. 

Niall is on the couch, watching Adventure Time. Louis is not entirely sure how Niall has so much free time in his last year of undergrad, but there is not much about Niall that Louis understands. 

"Hey, Lou," Niall says, not taking his eyes away from the screen. "I think Finn is gonna make a move on Princess Bubblegum, hold on." 

"I am upset, Niall," Louis says, laying down on the couch with his head on Niall's lap. Niall immediately starts petting his hair. 

"Okay, okay, just gimme a second," Niall says. 

Louis hums and closes his eyes. Niall knows just how to pet him and it turns him into a cat. 

Ten minutes later, Niall shifts underneath him. He says, "Lou."

Louis blinks his eyes open. "Hey." 

Laughing a little bit, Niall strokes his hand through Louis's hair one more time. "What's up, babe?" 

Louis sits up and yawns. "Long day." 

"Yeah, same. Man, why didn't you tell me that geology isn't actually about throwing rocks at things?" 

Louis smiles, sleepy. He leans his head on Niall's shoulder. "Sorry, Nialler. Didn't want to shatter the illusion." 

Niall laughs a little. "So, what's up? Why are you upset?" 

"Oh." Louis sighs and it comes out long-suffering. Accurate, then. "I am in way, way too deep, Niall."

"The boy?" 

Louis nods. "On top of being, like, lovely, he's also really fucking smart. And, like. Whatever. Kill me. I have to go email him notes on his paper. And he asked to read some of my short stories? Like, what the fuck?" 

"Wow," Niall says, shifting back to look at Louis. "You don't let any of us read your stories. Well, me, anyway. Maybe you let Zayn. You let Zayn do a lot of things to you that you don't let me do." 

Louis bats his eyelashes up at Niall. "Just say the word, darlin', and I'm all yours." He stands up and stretches, before looking back down at Niall. "Hey," he says. "I'm sorry I'm so, like, self-obsessed lately. I know it's annoying. This'll go away soon and I'll go back to being raptly invested in your life." 

Niall snorts. "Right. And nah, Lou. It's good. You've seemed happier. I mean, aside from the tortured part. But, yeah, I don't know. It's good to see you, like, more alive. I guess. Think about that, or whatever." 

Louis rolls his eyes. "You've been talking to Zayn." 

"Well." Niall smiles, shrugging. "We're your support group of two." 

"You both need to get... things. Boyfriends. Girlfriends. What the fuck ever. Am I not narcissistic enough for you? Stop _handling_ me!"

"Hey!" Niall says. "If you must know, a girl in my geology class offered to help tutor me. She's cute. She likes my accent." 

Louis smirks. "She probably just pities how absolutely shit you are at geology, mate."

"Oi, fuck off. I open up to you and this is how you react." Niall grabs his guitar from behind the couch. "I'm going to write a song entitled Louis Is The Worst Friend And He Can Choke On My Dick Metaphorically Not Literally Please Stop Looking At My Crotch Louis." 

Louis flips him off and goes to his bedroom. Time to deal with this stupidly not-stupid boy who he is stupidly stupid over. Sitting down at his desk, he opens his laptop and email and stares at the blank white. It's all so intimidating. Anything he's saying here is a _record_ and can be used against him. It's permanent. He's terrified, a little. 

A half an hour, two laps around the apartment, and three beers later, he sends the email with his critique of Harry's essay. He added a postscript: _I've attached one of the stories in the collection. It's... well, sorry, mate. Don't feel like you need to reply._

He stands up and falls face first into his bed. 

A half an hour later, his phone dings with his email alert. His intestines are alive, on fire, and trying to claw their way into his stomach. SOS SOS SOS woe woe death death imminent death. 

He crawls over to his computer and with absurd trepidation, he clicks on the unread email. 

_Louis,_

_Thank you so much for your notes. I completely understand what you're saying and, man, maybe you should rewrite Barthes, because that makes so much more sense. Thank you, seriously. I've been thinking about what you said, about this being too advanced or whatever, and I'm a little nervous. I hope it doesn't come off like I'm sucking up or anything! I just found an excerpt of Barthes on JSTOR and was intrigued. I don't know. Please tell me if I'm being dumb here._

_And, Louis, god. Your story was... I don't even know what to say. The way you use words is powerful, and that's an understatement. I almost teared up, mate! Maybe it's because I'm close to the situation (forgive me for getting personal here – my parents divorced two years ago) but god. You're so talented. The emotion was subtle and striking and just enough to give me the choice to be affected, if that makes sense? You're not holding my hand through it, you're not telling me how I should feel. You're presenting the facts, you're showing me what's happening through your characters, and you're allowing me to be affected in the way that I choose. That is an amazing talent._

_Thank you so, so much for sharing that with me. I'm really grateful and honoured. I don't want to, like, be that person who asks if it was personal, but if it was, then I feel very close to you and I just want to tell you that I think you're an amazingly strong person. Just. Thank you again._

_Harry Styles_

Louis immediately goes back to his bed and screams into his pillow for five minutes. Niall knocks on his door. 

"Lou?" 

"Go away," Louis says. He screams again. 

"Are you okay?" Niall asks. 

Screaming into a pillow is a sacred act, Louis thinks. If there's muffled screaming in a room where there's very clearly only _one person_ occupying it, the Official Roommate Code should be to ignore it. 

"I'm fine. Go talk to Zayn about my fucking emotional distress or whatever." Louis rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling. 

He wants to tell himself he won't reply, but even as he thinks that, he's going back to his computer. 

_Harry,_

_I'm... overwhelmed? I guess. I don't really let people read what I write. All of my friends have learnt by now not to ask, I guess. You must have caught me offguard, haha. Not that I mind, really! I'm weirdly overprotective. But, god. I'm really flattered that you feel so strongly. That it hit you in that way, I guess. And, yeah, it's a personal piece. I suppose I'm just a big mess of daddy issues piled into one slightly humanoid shape. My dad left when I was little and my stepdad left when I wasn't so little and the time in between was kind of a catastrophe for me and my family, you know. Probably teenage boys shouldn't have to deal with emotional trauma, because that shit lingers, haha. I don't mean to overshare! I'm just really touched that you appreciated it the way you did. So thank you for that._

_Louis_

He sends it with a knot in his stomach. He's crossing a line here, he's sure. He's sure this is wildly inappropriate. He needs space and time and oceans between him and this boy, because this boy is making him insane. He decides to watch Parks and Recreation instead. 

It takes an episode and a half before his email lets out another alert. 

_Louis–_

_Oh, god, I really hope you don't feel like I pressured you into sending me that!! I feel awful now, haha._

_But seriously, I completely understand. My mum recently got remarried and it's just a big adjustment, I guess. I don't know. I kind of came to the US to get away from it all. Not that he's awful or I'm unhappy with it or anything! Just, like, it's a lot to have to deal with. It's a hard adjustment, and I cannot imagine having to deal with it before I was more actualised. If that makes sense. Not that I see myself as fully actualised or anything, god, I sound crazy right now. Just, like, as an early teenager, is all I mean. I know I said this already, but you seem like a really strong person._

_I think you really showed that in your piece – the feeling of independence that comes through abandonment, if that makes sense? Your character, Max, spent a lot of time defining himself through his father, and through the image of his father that he created, and then came through in the end stronger, having shattered that. And I just think that's something that every young person goes through, regardless of their family situation, you know? Being defined through their parents, and the inevitable disappointment that comes with the realisation that they're not and never will be their parents._

_I think I'm still dealing with that, actually. I don't know. Sorry for emoting at you hahaha._

_Harry .x_

Louis sits in front of his computer, dumbfounded. He knew Harry was smart. He knew Harry was an intelligent, sensitive person. He was well aware of all that, before this bomb of an email exploded on his fucking foxhole. 

He's spent a lot of time acknowledging Harry's academic prowess, and absolutely point-blank refused to acknowledge his _personhood_. 

Louis is very, very talented at appreciating aesthetics. He is the first one to elbow Zayn and point out a fit boy across the room. Whilst watching telly with Niall, Louis spends most of his brainspace deciding who is the hottest male lead and who is the prettiest female lead and deciding who should fuck based solely on that. He's predicted the outcome of the last three seasons of the Bachelor based purely on his knowledge of what the vapid contestants are looking for. Louis is incredibly accomplished at being shallow. 

What Louis tries desperately to avoid is introspection. He despises Zayn's desire for his deep talks. He envies Zayn in equal amounts, though, for his ability to express his feelings with the ease he does. He is in awe of people who can sit down and open themselves up to the world without fear of being laughed at, of being rejected. Louis is crippled by the fear that if he opens himself up without the fragile protection of a character to hide behind, the world will string up his insecurities one by one and use them against him until he has nothing left. 

But then Harry fucking Styles comes along and knocks Louis out with his perfect aesthetics and now. Now Louis has tangible proof, glowing against his face, that Harry can see through him, can see through his characters – on the page and off – and he can see Louis without any of the bullshit he uses to obscure himself. He can see Louis, he's seeing Louis, and he's not finding him wanting. He's saying Louis is _strong_. He's saying Louis is someone to be admired. 

Standing up on shaking legs, Louis walks directly into the bathroom and throws up. 

*

The next day, during the discussion section, Louis avoids Harry's eyes intently. Immediately after class, he shoves his papers into his bag and ignores the fact Harry is hanging back, looking worried. 

"Hey, um, Louis?" Harry asks, and he actually fucking shuffles his feet. Harry is the embodiment of everything Louis has ever read about and assumed was a literary exaggeration. 

He doesn't turn around for a moment, he just says, "One sec, Harry," and pulls out his phone. 

_here's the thing what if i just compared harry to mr darcy in my head_. 

Zayn will appreciate that. 

Grabbing his bag and turning to face Harry, he smiles brightly. "What's up?" 

"Oh," Harry says, blinking nervously. "I just wanted to make sure that we're, like, okay? I mean, I don't want to be annoying or anything, I just. You didn't reply to my email last night – which is totally fine, obviously! – I just wanted to make sure I didn't cross any lines or anything, I guess?"

Louis forces a laugh and Harry's brows furrow. "No, Harry, god, sorry, I got distracted. My roommate was being stupid, you know. Of course you didn't! I'm really flattered by your insight. Thank you, again." 

Harry nods and runs his hand through his hair. "Okay. Good, um. Well. I'll see you around, I guess? Have a good day." 

"You too," Louis says. He lets Harry walk out before him so he can silently tell whatever higher power that is constantly, consistently, and thoroughly fucking him over to _get a life_.

Deciding he needs a quad shot of something chocolatey, he heads immediately to his coffeeshop. Spreading the papers he needs to grade out on the corner table, he orders his usual and immediately puts his head in his hands. There is absolutely no reason this boy should be causing him this much anxiety. He's had crushes before. He had a massive crush on Zayn, before everything. He memorised Zayn's schedule and conveniently placed himself where he knew Zayn would walk by. He wrote a novella on a character based on Zayn. He fancied himself In Love with Zayn, before everything. 

And with Theo, he was even stupider. He made sure he was at every party Theo went to. He added Theo on facebook minutes after they spoke for the first time. He managed to get drunk and managed to make out with Theo at least eight times before they fucked. He asked Theo out with a shaky voice and a certainty he would get laughed out. He dated Theo for two and a half years, while Theo simultaneously dated the majority of the English department, unbeknownst to Louis. 

There were boys before and after, too, that Louis became – for lack of a better word – obsessed with. He obsessively checks their facebooks, their relationship statuses. He is borderline psychopathic, honestly. But it always fucking _fades_ , is the thing. He gets crushes, and then he doesn't. He panics, tortures himself for a few weeks, and he gets over it. 

And all Louis can think about now is the fact that it's not happening. It's not fading. He's completely consumed and it's irrational and he's writing horribly metaphoric poems about swimming upstream and chronic falling and autumn and green eyes and Louis wants to vomit, die, and make this _end_. He's getting dangerously to the point of impact, he thinks. Dangerously to the point of realisation that this is not a _crush_ ; to the point of realisation that if something doesn't happen, he will _be_ crushed. 

Dragging his fingers through his hair, he sits up and sighs. He doesn't have time for this. It's stupid. He's just a stupid, stupid boy with a crush on someone unattainable. He'll read some Whitman and get the fuck over it. 

He will. 

His email pings with an alert, and Louis rolls his eyes. He's pretty sure it's the professor, asking for an update on his discussion section. Mindlessly flipping through his tabs, he gets to his email and his stomach drops. 

It's not the professor. It's Harry fucking Styles. 

_Louis,_

_I just wanted to apologise again. I know you said not to worry about it, but I've been thinking a lot and you said you never let anyone read your work, and I'm really sorry if you feel like I've pushed too hard after you've given me that privilege. I honestly would never intentionally intrude upon your privacy and I feel terrible thinking I may have crossed that line._

_Harry .x_

Louis lets out a deep breath. _Fuck_. Fuck. 

_Harry–_

_God, please, no. Don't feel that way. I don't... really know what to say, I guess, because you're right. It's private and it's hard to let people into that side of me. I'm not really built for that._

_I think you are an incredible person. Just know that._

_Louis x_

He closes his eyes and sends it. His palms are sweating. He doesn't know what he's doing. This is getting too much, too close. The urge to run is too, too strong. 

Harry replies almost immediately. 

_Louis,_

_If this is too forward, please, please, please tell me to fuck off and I will, immediately. But. Is there any chance you would want to get dinner with me?_

_I really hope... god. I don't know. I am hoping to hell I'm not intensely creepy here and I'm sure you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or. Just. I don't know. I'm so sorry. Ignore this. Or yell at me. I'm so sorry._

_But I think I'll feel worse if I never ask, so._

_Harry .x_

Standing up so fast he almost upturns his table, Louis motions to the barista that he's stepping outside and all but runs out the door. 

With shaking hands, he frantically dials Zayn. 

"Yeah, what," Zayn grunts upon picking up. 

Louis blinks furiously at the ground. "Zayn. Can–can you talk?" 

There's a pause, and then Zayn's voice comes back, clearer, more gentle, and concerned. "What's up, Lou?" 

"I–" Louis chokes on the words. "Harry just. Harry just asked me out." 

"Oh, Lou," Zayn says. "Are you okay? Is he there now?" 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Louis squeezes his eyes shut. "No, fuck. It was over email. Like I'm Meg Ryan, I don't know. Oh my god." 

"Hey. Hey, Louis," Zayn says, soothing. "Lou, it's okay. What are you going to say?" 

"I don't know, oh my god. This was never even in the realm of possibility."

Zayn sighs. "Of course it was, Louis. Everyone could tell from the way you talked about him that he was into you. What are you going to say?" 

"I _can't_ go out with him! I'm his TA, Zayn! I... oh my god." Louis is _not_ going to cry, because Louis promised himself a long time ago that he would never cry over a man again. 

"Look," Zayn says. "I'm gonna need you to calm down, Louis. You're gonna email him back and you're going to tell him that you want to go out with him, and you can phrase that however you'd like, but you need to _reassure him that he's not blindly hitting on his TA_ , and then you're going to remind him that you _are his TA_ and that sort of thing is frowned upon. Then, you are going to tell him that there is a month until the semester is over, and you are looking forward to taking him out the moment he turns in his final paper. Got it?"

Louis takes a deep breath. "What if he finds someone better in a month, Zayn?" 

He is so, so pathetic and all he wants is to curl into a ball in Zayn's bed and have Zayn wrap his skinny arms around him. 

"There's no such thing, Louis. Believe that. I'm hanging up. Go email Harry." 

Louis spends five more minutes sitting on the curb and staring at traffic before gathering himself and going back inside. 

_Harry,_

_You're not crossing any lines. Well, technically, I suppose you are, but before we get to that, I just want to say that I do want to get dinner with you. Very much so. At the risk of making myself sound even creepier, I've wanted to since you walked into that shitty classroom for the first time._

_But, while I'm your TA, I can't. We can't. Just... if you're still interested when the semester is over, you know how to get ahold of me._

_Louis x_

Woe woe death death woe. 

*

The days crawl by, and Louis feels as though he's literally crawling through them. 

"Louis," Niall says one afternoon – two weeks after what Louis considers D-Day –crawling into Louis's bed, where Louis is trying desperately to stay alive. "You're being melodramatic."

"Your mum's melodramatic," Louis grumbles back. 

" _Louis_ ," Niall says. "You're better than that." 

Louis sighs, rolling over to face Niall. "Not anymore. Everything has abandoned me, even my creativity with comebacks." 

Niall rolls his eyes. "You could be on the stage with these dramatics. You know what I think you need? A night out." He nods, as though that settles it. 

"I am ill-equipped. I haven't been out in ages. There's nothing out there for me. All I have is my bed and crippling self-doubt." Louis sighs into Niall's face, fully aware of the turkey-guac-onion sandwich he had for lunch. 

Niall chokes. "I absolutely loathe you. No, though. I talked to Zayn. We're taking you out. We're gonna meet up with Liam and them at that club down on fourth and we are going to get shitfaced and dance and meet cute humans." 

"Humans aren't my type," Louis says. 

" _Louis_ ," Niall groans. He gets out of the bed and pulls on Louis's wrist. "We're going. Zayn's going to be here at eight and we are going to pregame and then go _have fun_. Remember fun, Louis? It's something you used to be." 

Louis closes his eyes. "Fine. If I go out I get two weeks of immunity. No dragging me into civilisation." 

"Fine," Niall huffs. "But get up. Put on ass-pants. Something sexy, I don't care." 

"Niall, you cheeky little minx." Louis grins at him. 

Niall winks back. "Someday, Lou, we're gonna have done with it and make passionate love. I am ninety-nine percent positive that is how this rom-slash-buddy-com ends." 

"Let me ride you off into the sunset, Nialler," Louis says. "Just say the word." 

Niall just laughs and leaves the room. Louis surveys his closet. Something sexy. Right. 

Two hours later, Louis is on the way to Very Drunk. Zayn and Niall are pouring shots in the kitchen and Louis is sprawled on the couch. Zayn appears behind him, holding a shotglass. Louis tips his head back and opens his mouth. Zayn smirks. 

"This looks familiar somehow," he says. 

Louis giggles and Zayn pours the shot down his throat. It's tequila and Louis is going to hate himself in the morning, but right now he can't even pretend to care. 

"Oi," Niall shouts. "We should go before Princess Lou passes out."

"Yeah," Louis says. "We should go. I want to dance. Let's dance." 

The apartment is only a couple of blocks from the club and Louis clings to Zayn as they walk, whispering in his ear. 

" _Louis_ ," Zayn hisses, flustered. "Stop it, shit." 

Louis smiles to himself, smug. "I love you, Zayner. I love you I love you I love you." 

"I know," Zayn says, exactly at the moment Niall says, " _We know_ , Louis. "

Louis just laughs, letting go of Zayn to skip ahead. The cover is four dollars and Louis throws his arm out for a stamp, ignoring the bouncer's suspicious look. 

"Watch him," the bouncer says to Zayn. Zayn just sighs. 

"Louis," he yells, and Louis just waves behind him, weaving his way to the bar. 

Three drinks later finds Louis on the dancefloor, grinding into some very muscular bloke behind him. His eyes are closed and he's heedless of the hands on his hips, running over his body. Niall was right. He used to be fun. He needed this reminder. 

"Lou," Zayn says, and Louis opens his eyes. He smiles hazily at Zayn in front of him. 

"Zayner," he says. 

"Let's get some water, yeah?" Zayn grabs his wrist and pulls Louis away from the hands on him. Louis sends the bloke an apologetic look back, but follows Zayn to the bar. Niall's sitting on a stool, talking animatedly to a laughing couple. 

"Nialler!" Louis yells, pulling away from Zayn and rushing over to him. "Nialler, I've missed you, you need to come dance with me, let's get this rom-com back on track!" Louis turns to greet the couple Niall's been chatting with and. 

And his stomach drops to the floor. 

"Oh," he says. "Hello." 

Harry's eyes are wide, and the air between them is charged. The girl Harry's with is oblivious, still laughing at whatever Niall's saying, but Harry's arm is around her waist, and it's intimate. There's lipstick on his mouth and on his neck.

Louis feels every point of contact between them like a punch in the gut. 

"Louis," Harry says. "Hi." 

Louis just stares back at him, and hopes like hell he's got a convincing smile on his face. 

"Lou!" Niall's shouting. "Lou, Lou, Lou! Harry here's from _England_! You know what I said, I said, Hey, Harry, my roommate's from England too! You should meet him! And now here you are! It's like fate!" 

Louis turns away from Harry's intent gaze and looks down at Niall, who's grinning madly. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is sweaty and Niall is _drunk_. He smiles a little more real at Niall. "Yeah, Ni, Harry and I know each other. He's in my discussion section." 

"Oh!" Niall exclaims. "Oh, god, is this fate or _what_! Harry, mate, Louis has the most intense crush on some kid in–"

"Niall, can we chat?" Louis cuts in sharply. "Can we chat like right now?" 

Niall blinks a few times before he focuses in on Louis's expression. His grin immediately falls off his face. "Oh. Fuck."

Zayn finally comes up to them. "Christ, Louis, don't just take off like that, mate," he says, slightly out of breath. He looks over at Harry and the girl Harry's with and he nods. "Hey. I'm Zayn." 

Harry looks overwhelmed, completely out of his depth. Louis can relate. "Harry," he says weakly. Louis can feel Zayn's sharp breath behind him as the girl smiles at Zayn. "I'm Steph." 

Louis gives her a half smile. "I'm Louis." She grins back at him. Louis is feeling his drunkenness slip off him like he's crawling out of the ocean, and all Louis wants in the world is to crawl back into it and drown. 

Zayn's arm snakes around Louis's waist and Louis thinks vaguely that he's the only thing keeping him standing. He thinks that about Zayn a lot. He is very, very glad Zayn is in his life. Turning around in Zayn's arms, he raises up onto his tiptoes to press his mouth against Zayn's ear. "We need to leave. We need to leave before I lose it. We need to leave." 

"Yeah," Zayn breathes back. He grabs Niall by the back of his jacket and pulls him up. "Well, it was lovely to meet you both, but this is the end of the night for us. The grown-ups have to get to bed or something. Have a good night." 

Steph says, "Good luck, guys. Great to meet you. See you around!" 

Harry just stands there, staring at Louis, looking like he's been hit by a car. 

"Bye, Harry," Louis says. 

It sounds final, even to his own ears.

*

"Louis."

"I'm busy." 

"Louis, staring at a pile of paper is not busy. If you were grading them, you could possibly be busy. You are not busy. We're going out for dinner." Zayn's got his _do not argue_ voice on.

Louis rubs his hand over his face. "I can't. I'm busy. I genuinely have to get these graded." 

Zayn sighs and sits down on Louis's bed next to him. "Lou, come on. Let's talk." 

Louis flops onto his back and starfishes out. "No. Don't you have your own problems? Let's talk about your problems. Don't _internalise_ so much, Zayn, it's not healthy."

"Yeah, but, Louis," Zayn says, "I'm not the one here who's likely to forget to eat for days and days because I refuse to deal with what's bothering me."

"I'm dealing just fine, thank you," Louis snaps. "I'm not upset. I have no reason to be upset. He had absolutely no commitment to me. There is less than a single reason for me to be upset with him. He is eighteen, which, _god_ , what was I thinking anyway? And being eighteen and gorgeous, he has people all over him always. I don't blame him. Good for him, really." 

Zayn nods a little and lays back next to Louis. "Okay, I mean, yes. But that doesn't invalidate the way you're feeling. It doesn't invalidate the fact that you're not _happy_."

"I'm never happy," Louis says. "This is hardly revolutionary. If it's not this, it'd be something else. Shut up. God. Do you just have Dr. Phil hooked up to an intravenous line into your brain?"

"Louis." Zayn rolls over to face him. 

Louis rolls his eyes at the ceiling. " _Zayn_."

"Look, hey, let me set you up, yeah? Liam broke up with his girlfriend a few weeks ago, and I know he always thought you were fit, so, like. You like Liam." 

"I'm not getting _set up_ , oh my god, will you fuck off? How old am I?" 

"You need to do _something_! You can't just rot away under a pile of papers you're not grading." Zayn huffs a sigh. 

"Whatever," Louis says. "If I go out to dinner with you, will you leave me alone?" 

Giving Louis a half-smile, Zayn just says, "Maybe." 

Louis groans.

*

It's office hours again, and Louis is actually writing. It's a week before the end of the semester; a week before final papers are due, and Louis has completely given up on even the swottiest of the swots asking for help. Good riddance. He might just fail everyone out of general spite. 

He's writing a short story, but deviating from his theme. He's writing about two boys, one scared, and one not. It's all just a shitshow. Louis is a shitshow. He's not pretending otherwise, except to, like, Zayn. Zayn doesn't need to know that he's a shitshow, because Louis has been doing Very Well with convincing Zayn that he is Absolutely Fine. 

Whatever. 

Louis is in the middle of a scene where the unnamed main character is brooding. He thinks this unnamed main character broods a little bit too much. This unnamed character needs a hobby. This unnamed main character is a self-absorbed, selfish, unlikeable piece of shit. Louis should maybe make this unnamed main character a little more likable. He'll edit it later. 

Too bad he can't edit himself, he thinks. He could do with a little bit more likability. _He_ doesn't even like himself. He scrawls in the margin of his notebook: _self-loathing is sooooooo unattractive._

Louis scowls down at his page. He's great. He's funny and he has a great arse. He's great. Everything is great. Leaning forward until his forehead hits the table, Louis groans into the table. 

It's office hours. No one can hear him scream. 

Except there’s a knock on the doorframe. Louis raises his head, and oh. Well. Shit. 

Harry’s standing there, looking hesitant, nervous, tentative. “Hi,” he says quietly. 

Louis wants to faceplant right back down onto the desk and resume his groaning. Instead, he says, “Hey, Harry. Paper troubles?” 

“I, um. Well, no. Not as such.” Harry’s still standing in the doorway, as if waiting for an invitation. Louis holds in his sigh and nods at the chair across from him.

“What’s up, then?” 

Harry shuffles over and sits down. He slides his hands under his thighs and peeks up at Louis through his fringe. “I... this is really awkward, I’m sorry. But I feel really bad about the other night and I just. I guess I wanted to explain?”

Louis smooths his expression into something he hopes is blank. Expressionless. “Harry. There’s nothing to explain. Everything is fine.”

Harry blinks a bit. “Okay,” he says doubtfully. “But, I mean, I wanted to apologise? I mean, I know that looked bad and I know I said I--”

“Harry,” Louis cuts him off. “There’s nothing to apologise for, seriously. This isn’t a conversation we should be having anyway, but I don’t want you to feel guilty for anything, because there’s nothing to feel guilty for. Don’t worry about anything.”

Harry stares at him, dubious. “I... okay. Is that, like, it? I mean...”

Louis huffs out a resigned laugh. “Do you have any questions about your paper, Harry?”

“No,” Harry says softly. “I’ll see you around, Louis.” He gets up and walks to the door, but pauses again in the doorway, turning to face Louis. “I am sorry, though, if you think I feel any differently about you now.”

Louis closes his eyes briefly. “Harry,” he whispers. 

Harry just bites his lips and nods before leaving. 

Swallowing his internal screaming, Louis scrawls out a quick note to tape on his door for any swots and leaves his office a half an hour before his hours are over. 

He gets home and before he even unlocks the door, he hears the sound of two guitars in the living room. He wanders in, dropping his bag on the floor by the couch, and watches as Niall and Ginger Ed riff off each other. Niall’s laughing and there are empty beers on the coffee table. Louis sinks onto the floor at Niall’s feet and leans his head against his knee. 

“Hey, Louis,” Niall sings, still strumming. “Louis, Louis, pretty Louis, Louis, why are you sad? Louis, Louis, don’t be sad, Louis, Louis, we love you, Louis.”

“Pretty, pretty Lou,” Ed croons, “Pretty Louis, pining over pretty Harry, pretty boys, what a pity they can’t get all kissy, pretty pretty.” 

Louis turns his face into Niall’s leg and groans. “I hate both of you.” 

Niall’s guitar rings out an echo, and his hand comes down to card through Louis’s hair. “Alright, baby?” he asks, softer. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “What are you guys up to?”

Niall shrugs. “Just jamming. Ed’s got a show coming up, actually, Lou. You should come. We’re all going, actually, so you don’t technically have a choice.”

Ed nods. “Yeah, it should be good, actually. I’ve got some mates coming along to jam with me, and we’re just gonna have fun up there. I think you’d like it, Louis.”

Louis shrugs. “Sure, no, that sounds like fun. I’ll be there. There’ll be a bar, right?” 

Ed snorts. “As if I’d play somewhere without a bar.”

Louis smiles at him. “In another world, Ed, you and I would be brothers.”

*

The last day of the semester comes all too quickly. Just two weeks ago, Louis thinks wryly, he was anticipating this day ridiculously. The days were coming too slowly. Now, it’s just another clock ticking down the minutes he’ll have to ever see Harry again. 

Not that he wants to see Harry again. Right. Because he doesn’t. Because he’s Over It. 

“I am over it,” Louis tells Zayn, on the Sunday night before finals week. “I am so over it that I’m not even sure what the _it_ I’m referring to is.” He has maybe had a few beers. 

Zayn nods from his window seat throne. “Oh, yeah, Lou, I believe you. Water off a duck’s back, that’s your philosophy.”

“Excuse me,” Louis says, haughty. “I do _not_ think in idioms.”

“Whatever,” Zayn says. “I think you should talk to him.”  
Louis rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

And there’s not. Louis isn’t _devastated_ , he doesn’t think. He’s functioning. He thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, he expected this. Harry was always sort of a ghost of expectation, just out of grasp. The beautiful boy sitting in the third row, smiling at him. There was the professional barrier between them, and Louis thinks he wouldn’t have crossed that line. He thinks -- hopes -- he would have had enough self control. Harry was always just a metaphor for his life, maybe. Something beautiful, something so good, just too far away. Just on another plane. 

“Oi,” Zayn says, interrupting his thoughts. “If you’re gonna get lost inside your head, at least let me in. It’s literally all I want.” 

Louis sighs. “There’s a penis on the blackboard in my classroom.”

Zayn blinks. “Okay,” he says. “And?”

“And, so, like, Harry’s sort of the personification of everything I want but can’t have, right, and the penis is life. Ejaculating its reality on my head. Comeshot of reality. Reality-check bukakke. It’s poetic, really,” Louis muses.

“Louis.” Zayn sounds unimpressed.

“I’m just saying!” Louis says. 

“What I’m confused about, mate, is why you’re so set on the fact that Harry’s unattainable. Because the way I see it, is like. He asked you out. He approached you to explain and apologise for the night at the bar. He read and liked your writing. Which, by the way, you haven’t even let me read. He seems like a really intelligent, sweet guy. Who is into you. And you’re just sitting on my couch, whining about how you’ll never have him. So, like, I don’t get it.” 

Zayn has this really fucking annoying habit of putting things in context and simultaneously making sense. Louis despises it. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Louis says.

“Uh,” Zayn says. “Actually, yeah, Lou, it does. Because I am always here for you whenever you’re having problems. I will always listen to your bitching and I’ll do whatever I can to help you out, you know that. What pisses me off a bit, though, is when you create these elaborate problems in your head that have no actual basis in reality.”

“So, basically, what you’re saying is that _you’re_ the penis ejaculating reality onto me.” Louis’s basic retaliation strategy for Zayn’s logic is to be as bitchy as possible. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Louis, that’s exactly what I said.”

They’re quiet for awhile. Louis runs his thumb through the condensation on his beer bottle. He picks at the label, peeling a corner of it off. Sighing, he says, “Okay, Zayn. Alright.” 

Zayn leans forward a little, ashing his cigarette out the window. He nods a little at Louis with his eyes cast down. 

Louis licks his lips. “Is there a term for, like, reactionary abandonment complex? Like, naturally I’ve got sidebags full of abandonment issues, but like. Preemptive abandonment. Is that a thing?” 

Zayn hums around his filter. “I think that’s just. Abandonment complex. I don’t know. But go on.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, staring at his fingers. “I dunno. I, like, left my family before they could leave me. Leave me _again_. Or whatever. And, like. It’s just easier, you know? To stop something before it’s started. To want the unattainable, because then there’s less disappointment when it doesn’t work out? And I think that’s what I’m doing, with the Harry thing. And that’s not fair to Harry.”

Zayn looks out the window at the setting sun. It catches on his eyelashes. Louis sighs. He doesn’t deserve his friends. His friends don’t deserve having to deal with him. 

“But, like,” Zayn says after a moment. “Do you like him? Like, genuinely, Louis, be straight with me. Do you like him aside from the base attraction? Do you think he’s someone you’d want to be with?” 

Pulling his legs up to his chest, Louis hugs them close. He rests his forehead on his knees. “Yeah. I do.” 

Humming again, Zayn says, “Yeah. Then don’t blame you being chickenshit on your daddy issues, or whatever. This is you making an active decision to not take what you want. This is pure fear.”

Louis doesn’t lift his head. “I know,” he says in a small voice. “Stop.” 

There’s a rustling from the window, and then there are arms around him and lips pressing kisses into his hair. “It’ll be okay, Lou. You’re okay.” 

Louis laughs a little into his knees. Yeah. He’s brilliant.

*

It’s Friday night and campus is slowly coming back to life, the library emptying out. The deep, held breath of finals week is being audibly let out. 

Louis is standing in front of his mirror, frowning, playing with his fringe. He’s wearing black skinnies and his thighs look massive. His shirt won’t sit right on his shoulders. His hair looks fucking stupid. 

“Niall,” he calls out pathetically. 

Niall bounds into his room, cheeks already flushed. They’ve been pre-gaming for two hours. 

“Niall, I look stupid.” Louis pouts at him dramatically. 

Niall just looks him up and down and laughs. “You look great, Lou, shut up. You always look great. You look great when you’ve got a fever and, like, leprosy.” 

Louis laughs, despite himself. “But would you fuck me?”

Niall wraps his arm around Louis’s waist and tips his head to rest against Louis’s. “Someday, Lou, it’ll be you and me. A wedding in the country, I think. Maybe the white cliffs of Dover. Honeymoon in the south of France. A brood of children. Dogs. You’ll teach pottery at the local college and I’ll coach U-8 football. We’ll be disgustingly domestic.”

Louis smiles at him. “I love you.” 

Niall pinches his cheeks. “I love you more. You look gorgeous. Let’s go. We’ll get drunk and dance and generally make merry. Zayn’s meeting us there; I think he’s going with Aiden and Liam and all of them.” 

“Alright.” Louis nods, patting his pockets. He has his wallet and his phone. “Let’s get wild. Another semester down.” 

The bar is already packed by the time they get there, but Zayn’s with Aiden, Liam, and Greg, and they managed to snag a table. They all stand up and pass around hugs when Niall and Louis show up. 

“I’ve heard good things about Ed,” Liam says. 

Niall nods excitedly. “Ed’s brilliant! His EP is on sale tonight. I produced it, you know, no big deal or anything.”

Everyone rolls their eyes. 

Niall laughs. “Anyway! Oi, we need shots. First round is on me, but the next one’s on Louis!” 

“Hey!” Louis protests.

Niall just winks as he walks toward the bar. “In exchange for being such a whingey bastard all semester!” 

Louis wrinkles his nose at the rest of them. “Rude,” he says. Zayn just snorts. 

After four rounds of shots, Ed finally takes the stage. “Helloooooo, motherfuckers!” he yells into the mic. Everyone yells back. Louis is just a touch past Very Drunk. It’s wonderful. 

Ed and his band start in on their set and Niall grabs Louis’s hand, dragging him to the dancefloor in front of the stage. Standing behind Louis, Niall wraps his arms around his waist and starts swaying them to the beat. Louis smiles to himself and leans back to rest his head on Niall’s shoulder. “Really love you, man,” he yells into Niall’s ear.

Niall smiles down at him and squeezes him a little tighter. “Glad you’re here,” he yells back.

Louis grins. He is too. He needed this. He needs to, like, rediscover himself, or something. Find a balance between _too_ fun -- cocaine was never his drug, really -- and deathly boring. He needs to learn how to not live in such a state of extremes. 

Ed’s voice is soothing, accented, and his songs are heavily acoustic. Louis feels his eyelids getting heavy, and Niall is warm behind him. It’s good. It’s the best he’s felt in a long time. 

Somewhere in the middle of the set, Ed’s talking to the crowd, and he says, “I’m gonna get some help from a mate of mine for this next one. Styles, get your little booty up here.” 

Louis’s eyes fly open and his body tenses. Niall’s hands don’t let go of him and Louis is privately grateful for that. Louis watches with wide eyes as Harry walks out onto the stage. He’s wearing a white teeshirt with a big flannel overshirt and impossibly skinny jeans. His hair is a mess and his lips are pulled into a lazy smile as he gives Ed a quick hug. 

“Hey, everyone,” Harry says, voice smooth, low, and slow. “‘M Harry, and Ed and I are gonna be singing a song called Little Bird. And I’m gonna go out on a limb here and dedicate it to someone in this audience who probably doesn’t want me to name him. Or even speak to him again, maybe. But. You win some, you lose some, I guess. So, yeah. This is for you.” Harry’s eyes are dark, scanning the crowd with intent, and when they find Louis, his lips quirk up, half rueful, half pleased. 

Louis has no idea what his face is doing, but he’s pretty sure he’s got an ace impression of a fish going on. 

The song starts with a catchy beat and jangling guitars and Harry’s voice comes in on the harmonies and Louis wants to close his eyes again, wants to suspend himself in Harry’s low, rough voice, but he can’t. He can’t stop watching Harry. Harry, leaning into the mic, eyes closed. Harry, with his big hands wrapped around the mic stand. Harry’s foot tapping to the beat. Harry under the lights, lit up like he was born to be onstage. 

Zayn comes up to them sometime in the middle of the song, touching Louis’s elbow in greeting. He doesn’t hide his pleased smile and Louis just gives him a small, warm smile back. 

When the set’s over, Niall kisses Louis’s hair and melts away into the crowd, probably to get more drinks. Zayn raises an eyebrow at Louis. “Gonna talk to him now?”

Louis bites his bottom lip. “I should, probably.” 

Zayn just nods. “I’m not gonna lecture you, Lou. I’m not some fucking Jedi Master here. Just, you know. Nothing wrong with being happy, and, like. I’m pretty sure that boy wants to make you happy.”

Louis pulls a face. “I feel like I’m in some kind of fucking rom-com.” 

“Whatever,” Zayn says. “Appreciate it. Those generally have happy endings.” He gives Louis and encouraging slap on the arse. “Go find your boy.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbles. Zayn goes off back to the table and Louis stands in the middle of the fading crowd on the dancefloor. He shakes himself and steels up to go find Harry. He takes a step forward and promptly bumps straight into a broad body. 

“Oh, so--” Louis stops. Harry’s standing in front of him, bright red lip pulled between his teeth, eyes wide. Nervous. 

“Hi,” Louis says. 

“Hi,” Harry says back, smiling a little. “I’m, um. Glad you’re here.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, shaking his head. “You’re good. Shit, Harry. You’re really good.” 

Laughing softly, Harry looks at his feet. “Um. Thanks. Can we, um, talk?”

Louis nods and grabs Harry’s hand, pulling him toward the door. Once they’re outside, the cold air hits Louis like a tidal wave. He shivers a little. 

“So,” Louis says. “I want to apologise, I guess.” 

Harry’s head jerks up, alarmed. “No, no, Louis, wait, I want to--”

Louis cuts him off, holding his hand up. “No, me first.” He waits for Harry to nod before continuing. “I fucked up a lot here. I excused it at the beginning with some sort of, like, justification that I was your TA and you were untouchable, which was true, but beyond that I was just, like, scared, I guess. And I wasn’t open with you about that, I guess. Which. I mean. We weren’t anything. And I guess we’re still not? Unless you want to be. But, like, I don’t know. You got too close to parts of me I don’t really let people see and that freaked me out, because I kind of liked it. So. I’m kind of a mess and I pushed you away without really explaining why. So. I’m sorry.” 

Harry’s fiddling with the cuff of his shirt, staring down. He nods. “It’s... no, Louis. I mean, I kind of figured I was pushing a little too hard. Ed and I have a joke that you’re kind of a startled deer.”

“Oi,” Louis says. Harry smiles. 

“No, but like. I don’t know. Seeing you that night at the bar kind of shook me a little, because I did really want to be with you. I _do_ really want to be with you. But I think I didn’t really take it seriously? Or take _you_ seriously, I guess? Because, shit, Louis. You’re older, gorgeous, brilliant, hilarious... you’re like...” Harry trails off, laughing to himself. “You’re like perfect.”

Louis huffs a small laugh and nudges his knee against Harry’s. “That was pretty much my exact justification for why _you_ wouldn’t want to be with _me_. Except, like, reversed. And younger. God, Harry.”

Harry smiles at him again, all wide green eyes and pale skin and dark curls. Louis has something squeezing at his gut and for once, he’s not entirely sure that it’s unpleasant. He takes a chance and reaches his hand out to grab at Harry’s. “So,” Louis says, smiling down at his feet. “You still want to take me out to dinner?”

Taking a step closer until their toes are touching and Louis has to tilt his head back to meet Harry’s eyes, Harry says, “I think I’d maybe like nothing more.” 

Louis drops Harry’s hand and takes a deep breath before settling his hands on Harry’s hips, still gazing up into his eyes. Harry’s lips widen into a small, private smile and he brings his own hands up to slot his fingers between the gaps of Louis’s ribs. 

“Will you think I’m easy if I kiss you before I take you out?” Harry whispers. 

Louis pretends to think about it for a moment, before saying, “Nah, I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Oh, good,” Harry murmurs, and leans in.


End file.
